Impossible? Rewritten
by XxNonstoppSmilerxX
Summary: Alice and Jasper rarely ever talk. They exchange a polite hello when they see each other, but other than that they are silent. Except on Facebook, where they can talk all night, as if they were best friends. Some of their family & friends are all over the idea of them dating, while others. . . Not so much. Will they ever be together? Or is it impossible?


_Yes, I'm writing again :) I've been lazy & busy. But whatever. Oh, I'm rewriting my other story - titled _Impossible?_ - because almost the whole time I was reading it, I spent cringing. It was horrible really. So, I'm changing it for the better, I guess. Some things will stay the same; others will be different. You may read now :)_

Alice sat in Art class, wringing her small fingers in anger.

Jasper was just a _boy. _One who never even payed any attention to her, besides saying hello to be polite. He didn't even notice her at all, but she liked him.

So why was she getting so worked up over him? She'd never felt this way about a boy; wanting so badly to hate him _and _have him all to herself at the same time. It was horrible really.

Her teacher's loud voice made her realize her surroundings.

"Alice?" Ms. Snysnick asked. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Alice replied. "I'm just thinking about what to paint." She smiled brightly.

"Oh." Alice could tell Ms. Snysnick didn't believe her.

She picked up her paintbrush and swirled it around the thick piece of paper in front of her. She washed the brush off, then dipped it in another color.

By the end of her class, Alice was finished her piece of art. Green, blue, and yellow were swirled around the canvas, giving it a look of abstract. But Alice could see something in it. The green paint was mostly in the middle, and she could pick out a shape. The smaller pools of paint were shaped like perfectly formed almonds. Almond shaped eyes. Perfect, almond-shaped, dark green eyes.

Jasper's eyes.

:O:O:O

She clutched her books to her chest, heading to her locker. Her next class was theatre, and she actually looked forward to it. It didn't mean that she didn't want to get out of the school though. But it did make her day better.

"Hey," a voice said, next to her ear. She jumped a few inches into the air.

She turned around, annoyed.

"Shit, Em! Gosh, can I at least drop my books off?"

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

"Nothing. I just want to get to theatre, and you scaring me isn't going to help me get there faster," she covered.

"Whoa, sorry, little Alice," he said, holding his hands up. "I'm sorry to keep you."

Alice laughed. "Emmett!" she whined. "Shut up and let me past!"

"Fine." He rolled his eyes and left, making his way toward the History classroom.

She stared at him, shaking her head. _He's such a baby, _she thought.

She headed into her drama class, taking a seat in the back of the room. She was a few minutes early, despite the whole thing with Em.

"Hey," someone whispered from beside her.

"Hey, Rose," Alice greeted her. Rosalie was her best friend; she always helped her whenever she needed anything, always let her know what to do about some things, whether Alice wanted to hear it or not. Rose was the type of person who wasn't afraid to speak her mind; who always voiced her opinions. She didn't care if people were offended by it or not. And that was one thing Alice loved about her.

"What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Em just scared me at my locker," she confessed, rolling her eyes.

Rose laughed. "He's a goofball, Ali."

Alice smiled. "He wouldn't be Emmett if he wasn't."

Their drama teacher walked in, and most of the students quieted.

"Guess what?" he asked, smiling widely.

Some of them were looking at him cautiously. Last time he produced a surprise for them, he ended up choosing the shyest people in class to go up on stage and improvise. It was terrible.

"What?" some asked.

Mr. Patterson smiled in response and grabbed a stack of narrow strips of paper from the edge of his cluttered desk. He passed one to each student, grining widely.

"Read," he said, clasping his fingers together and rocking back and forth on his heels. They gave him strange looks, wanting to know what was wrong with him. He'd never just handed out papers and commanded them to read it. Alice and Rosalie shared a look, knowing what the other was thinking.

Mr. Patterson is crazy.

"They're monologue ideas," a bored student stated.

"_Yes!" _he exclaimed. "That they are."

"And. . . we're going to do what with them exactly?" a timid boy asked from the back of the classroom.

"Perform them, of course."

A ton of questions were thrown into the air, assaulting Alice's ears.

"Who's going to perform?"

"_Where_ are we doing this?"

"_Why?"_

Mr. Patterson just smiled, waiting for their voices to die down.

"But Mr. Patterson, don't you remember what happened last time you did this?" Isabella Swan asked, standing up from her seat. Everyone, including Alice, gaped at her; she hardly ever spoke, or even acknowledged others. Isabella was hyperaware of their stares. She was a very quiet person, preferring to be alone most of the time.

"Yes, Isabella. But I need you guys to come out of your shells. You need to think outside the box, not stare at its inner walls!"

"Some of us don't like to be on stage, and don't like to be. . . heard," she tried, sinking back into her chair.

"Well, you shouldn't have taken this class if you weren't serious about it."

"Unfortunately, some of us couldn't get our schedules changed," someone said sourly.

"Not my problem." Mr. Patterson smirked.

Alice smiled. She actually liked Mr. Patterson, even if other students didn't. He was playful and sarcastic, and wasn't afraid to do crazy things or have his voice be heard. He reminded her of herself, in a way. And she loved her drama class. It was melodramatic and fun, just like it should be. She just wished everyone would be more into it.

"So, do you guys and gals want me to _explain _this little project, or do you want me to just forget about it?" he asked humorously.

"Forget," almost everyone muttered.

He laughed loudly. Of course! He'd expected them to go with the latter. But he wasn't giving up on this.

"Explain," Rosalie said, straightening up in her chair. She knew she was getting some incredulous looks, but she didn't care. She, too, loved drama and the arts, wanting to go into theatre arts when she was older, and wasn't afraid to have it be known.

Alice looked over at her, flashing her a bright smile.

"Firstly, who wants to be a volunteer?" he asked, looking around the room. Only four hands were raised, including Rosalie and Alice's.

"This is worth 30% of your grade; I suggest more hands go up."

At least three more people raised their hands.

"Much better. But I was kidding. _All _of you are participating."

They groaned.

"Were you kidding about the grade percentage?" someone asked.

"Do you think I was?"

"I'd like to believe it," the kid murmured.

Mr. Patterson smiled.

"Can you explain now?" Alice asked impatiently.

"You are going to have one partner, and one partner only." He took one of the strips of paper from the desk of a student closest to him. "These are just ideas for a monologue you can perform. Since this is worth so much of your grade, _everyone _is participating. And I know I said it already, but you need to remember that. Either you can be mature and choose a partner that you can _work _with, or _I _will be putting each group together. You can also work alone, if you choose. But anyone can choose their own script to go by. It can be from a movie, a play, or a musical or something. Or, you can be creative and create your own. 'Kay?"

"Okay," his students responded.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class.

Almost everyone jumped up, grabbing their belongings and beginning to leave the room.

Rosalie stood and turned to Alice, who was still in her seat and jotting things down in her notebook. "Partner?" she asked.

Alice picked up her bag and her notebook, looking over at Rosalie.

"Partner,"Alice confirmed.

"Oh, and class?" Mr. Patterson called, stopping their movements. They looked at him, waiting for him to speak again.

"Drama students are putting together a play for sometime later on in the year."

The teenagers stared at him.

"Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Auditions are next week."

Some of the young scholars rolled their eyes; other groaned; and a few smiled.

_And done. Tell me what you think. Is it better? Or worse?_


End file.
